Swapped
by it'slalalita
Summary: When Ratchet's secret Cortical Psychic Chamber has a disastrous malfunction, Bumblebee and Elita-1 find themselves trapped in the other's body. Living each other's lives isn't as easy at it seems and when secrets, shenanigans, and suspicion come to play, how long can they keep the secret from those they love? (TFP. Early in Season 3)
1. Chapter 1 - Whispers

Well, would look at this crack heap... it started as a stupid daydream while I was stuck in LA traffic, and somehow we ended up here. Body swaps are ALWAYS a good time... right? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this mini series while I work on other projects. Please note the following format:

:: Text :: = comm-link

[ Text ] = text message

Bumblebee's dialogue remains within * _Text*_ format, because he still doesn't have his voice back!

Please follow, fave, and comment! I love reading what you all have to say, but remember to keep it positive, we're all friends here! :3

\- AP

* * *

Chores day; the least appealing of daily tasks and duties now given a designated calendar spot – a necessary evil, as it were. Heavy pede-falls echoed at a brisk pace within the large hangar, thudding forwards before dissipating into the rising murmur of busy bots.

The newly reappointed SIC glanced up from her data pad, watching as the rest of Team Prime carried on with their own jobs: Wheeljack and Bulkhead moving Energon cubes under the supervision of Ultra Magnus, Smokescreen and Bumblebee assisting Arcee with the inventory stockade, and Ratchet… where was Ratchet? Cerulean hues darted about as her pace slowed, only to then come to a halt and pivot on the heel of her pede. The CMO was nowhere in sight…

 _Strange… he wasn't out on scouting duty with Prime today, was he?_

Slender digits flicked across the data pad, briefly reviewing the schedule, and tinted lips gave an immediate purse. Just as she thought, he was supposed to be here. Hm. Now, her pede tapped the floor impatiently, sending a ping to determine the Medic's location.

"Something wrong, Elita?" a cool femme voice pulled the SIC from her thoughts, gaze falling to the Stealth expert a few yards away.

"I have yet to see Ratchet report in today… have you seen him, Arcee?"

The blue femme shrugged, peeking over to both Bumblebee and Smokescreen who each shook their helms. Elita gave a quiet ex-vent, pede still tapping idly against the cement floor. With a wave of her servo Arcee silently motioned for the mechs to continue on, as slender arms crossed in front of her chassis.

"He's probably still recharging," she hummed nonchalantly, to which elicited a snort from the fuchsia Commander.

"Or _hiding_ …" Elita shifted her weight from one pede to the other, hips giving a small swing in the process. "Either way, I need his latest reports for the docket," a single digit tapped on her data pad, adding further articulation to the words.

Arcee chuckled, rolling her optics with a smirk, "Yeah, well, if _you do_ find him, tell him we could use some more-" her words were cut short as Smokescreen suddenly piped up.

"Hate to ruin the mid-grade break but, we could sure use some servos right now…" Nearly tripping over the snaking cables overflowing from his hold the yellow Scout chimed in as well.

 _*Where did you want these to go again, 'Cee?*_

Arcee shrugged, giving an apologetic glance to her superior, "Duty calls…"

Elita nodded her helm in silent dismissal, glancing back down to the data pad in hopes to find a location ping from Ratchet, only to be disappointed. Starting forwards once more a digit tapped at her comm-link, resulting in only an offline chime from the CMO's personal channel. A frequency change, maybe he tagged along with Optimus after all…

No sooner had the comm pinged did an immediate answer fill her audials.

:: _'Lita, is something wrong?_ ::

Optics rolled, assuring she was out of earshot of the others before answering.

:: With me in charge? Of course not… ::

A low rumbling chuckle filled the comm, and an amused vent of her own hummed from her vocoder. Primus, she had missed that sound. The moment passed after a brief second, and she leaned just outside the hangar door, safe from nosey bots and humans alike.

:: _Yet, somehow, I sense you are not calling_ _ **only**_ _to check-in_ … :: the Prime sighed, and she could practically hear him smiling on the other side, matching her own small grin now curving over smooth lip plates.

:: Only because you never gave a status update first. :: she quipped, continuing before he could retaliate, :: Ratchet isn't with you by chance, is he? ::

:: _No…_ ::

:: Slag. ::

:: _Why?_ :: the smooth baritone now gave a brief rumbling, as if asking whether or not he should worry.

:: There is no need to be concerned, Prime, :: Reading his thoughts she answered the unvoiced question, :: I'm sure he is just recharging late this morning… ::

:: _Or has hidden himself somewhere to escape your gruelling tasks_ , :: Optimus chided. A wicked smirk flashed over her features.

:: The gruelling tasks will be nothing compared to what will follow when I find him... :: she threatened loosely, but there was a tinge of apprehension in her tone. :: Thanks anyways, Prime. I will not keep you any longer. ::

:: _If you insist_ … :: Optimus didn't bother masking his disappointment, he'd half-hoped they could talk a while longer still. Elita had only just reunited with them on Earth, and he sought to lengthen the time spent in her company whenever possible. They both did.

:: The others will start to grow suspicious, best to find Ratchet and get on with things. :: Just as she went to sign-off, the baritone quickly cut in, quieter this time.

:: _Have you… given any further thought to_ \- ::

:: Optimus- :: Elita glanced around, assuring not a soul were in sight as her own voice lowered to a barely audible level. :: Now is not the best time. We can discuss this in person when you return. I really have to go now, lest be labelled as a hypocrite. ::

Audials flicked as the deflating sigh filled the other side of the comm, and cerulean optics couldn't help but scan the area, making extra sure she was truly alone. That's all they needed were old rumours resurfacing; gossip and hushed whispers amongst such a small group would completely demolish the synergy of the team. For now, it was best to keep private life under-wraps.

:: But… :: she started, another wicked grin flashing across tinted lip plates, :: If you return at a timely hour… we can see about venturing off base this evening…? ::

Now there was an idea. Optimus rumbled again, and just as before made no effort in masking his reaction; only this time, it was intrigue.

:: _Then_ _I will move this Earth myself, if I must_. ::

Clanking and banging echoed from inside the hangar, followed by immediate yells from the team inside, cutting the tender moment short. Jolted back to the present, Elita let her helm dip back, clunking against the wall with a dull thud. Really? The last Prime rumbled in amusement, having caught the distant chaos on the other side of the comm.

:: _Duty calls?_ ::

Elita groaned, :: _As always_ … I will see you later. ::

:: _Sooner rather than later, I promise_. ::

:: I will hold you to that, Prime. ::

A pause.

:: _I love you_. ::

:: I love you, too. ::

The signal was cut, and the frazzled voices of the subordinates echoed from behind, blending with the muted scuffles and clanks of Energon cubes.

"Really, Smokescreen?" Wheeljack hissed, "You have any idea how long it took to stack those?!"

"Hey, it was an accident! I didn't see them behind me! Besides, it was Bee's fault-"

 _*Was not!*_

"He should've been paying attention! I don't have optics on the back of my helm!"

 _*I told you to watch out…*_

"Enough! The three of you," Ultra Magnus interjected, keeping the regular monosyllabic tone he had become renowned for. "Instead of squabbling like sparklings, it would be best to focus your attentions to cleaning this mess, _before Commander Elita returns_ …"

The loose mention of her name brought an immediate end to the bickering, and she couldn't help but smirk behind the wall. After all these years, it was nice to know her designation alone could strike fear into the sparks of her subordinates. For now, they were off the hook; there was a bigger fish in need of frying, a white and orange one at that.

Taking the longer route around the building, she continued to the back towards Hangar C: a large supply vault and makeshift recharge bay. With the newfound alliance between the human military on site and the Autobots, construction of the vault and hangar had been completed seamlessly, rivalling the Decepticon engineering even.

The private hab-suites themselves were small by military standards, proportioned to the assigned bots along with the berths, but it was better than resting in an alt-mode, or propped against a wall, so no one complained; especially Elita. Spending so many years on dead Cybertron, the privilege of proper housing had long since been lost; to her, these crude hab-suites were the epitome of luxury. At least here the locks worked, and the berths were comfortable… mostly.

Digits punched the access code into the keypad, and with a hum the heavy doors retracted, granting her access. PING! Cerulean glanced back down to the data pad, expecting a message from Ratchet, but instead finding the sender to be Optimus.

[ Since tonight is your suggestion, the decision of where we venture falls on your capable shoulders. ]

Tinted lip plates curved into a soft smile as digits locked the screen, returning it back to black. The Prime would have to wait for her answer, and actually focus on the scouting mission. Determined pede-falls brought her to Ratchet's assigned suite, and a fist pounded on the door in quick successions.

"Ratchet? Are you in there, old friend?" Elita leaned closer, audials flicking as her receptors focused their attentions, listening intently for any stirrings or sounds. Hearing none, she knocked again.

"Ratchet?"

Still nothing.

Lips pursed and optical ridges furrowed. Where in the Pit could he be?

 ** _CLUNK!_**

" _Arghhhh_! Son of a scraplet!" the distant voice erupted from the other side of the hangar, echoing down the dimly lit hall before again returning to the eerie quiet.

 _Found you._

It took little time at all for her to navigate the halls and arrive at the supply vault. Within there were multiple chambers, each organized in accordance to purpose and cache. Denta bit at her lower lip component, listening again for the CMO in the darkness. Then, a flash of bright blue light came from the last vault through a sliver in the wall, and without hesitation she barrelled down the pathway to the partially closed doorway.

Peeking inside, the light almost blinded her and she called out gently, "Ratchet?"

"BY THE PRIMES!" the CMO shouted, obviously startled as unknown instruments clanked against the ground, prickling her sensitive audials. "Elita, how did you-?"

"I followed a hunch, and the dulcet sounds of expletives," she quipped, stepping inside as her vision finally came to focus, though what her gaze found was anything but explanative.

Large cables dangled around the ceiling and walls, glowing from the electric currency coursing through them, like black-light spider webs. At the center of the vault the hanging cables connected to a stasis pod, and multiple consoles. Ratchet stood at the side, scrambling to gather the dropped tools off the ground, before glancing up.

"This is not what it looks like."

"Then you better begin explaining," the words came almost coldly. Concern didn't even begin to describe all the emotions she felt. "What is going on here?" Torture chamber, was her immediate guess.

The Medic rose back to his pedes, setting the instruments on a workstation alongside other strange and worrisome objects. "I know what you are assuming, but I can explain."

Elita stepped closer, inspecting the dubious stasis pod as sparks flew from one end, and smoke hissed from the other. "I am waiting..."

"With Shockwave having returned, and previous experience in the past with the Cortical Psychic Patch, I thought that maybe-"

" _By the All-Spark, Ratchet_ …" Elita hissed through gritted denta. He seriously wasn't trying to rebuild one of those abominations, was he?

Ratchet threw his servos up protectively in protest, "I know. I know how it sounds. But, let me finish…" he paused, gauging her reaction. Elita glared down to him, optics boring into his own as her pede tapped expectantly against the ground. It was obvious her patience was wearing thin.

"Right," he continued, clearing his vocoder, "While I would never condone the use of one, I thought that perhaps there was a more… humane way in which to extract the necessary data, should a similar circumstance present itself."

Servos rested on her hip joints now, her fascia still scowling, " _And_?"

"And… I have been attempting to create a Cortical Chamber or sorts, rather than a patch. By taking the technology that originally monitors the encased bot's subconscious, we can use these consoles to isolate the internal projections, without having to meld neuro-nets…"

The Commander eased at the explanation, if only slightly, as cerulean glanced back over to the smoking stasis pod and cabling contraption. Elita now approached it, studying the threatening conglomeration of cables, metal, and electricity with a certain wariness brought on by war instincts. Ratchet let an ex-vent escape his frame in small relief. At least she was listening to him, rather than dragging his aft back to the main centre for chastising.

"And the implications?" she finally asked, gaze never wavering from the stasis pod.

"Numerous. For starters, I suspect Megatron may be trying to perfect the Synthetic Energon code… what if he did? That information could prove paramount in saving Cybertron-"

"And Earth potentially, as I have come to understand," she finished, now turning back to face the Medic with softened features.

"Precisely."

* * *

Dun, dun, DUNNNNNNNN! I mean, Ratch, your spark was in the right place...? Stay tuned for more shenanigans~


	2. Chapter 2 - Under Fire

How can you tell it's been a while since I've written dialogue for OTHER characters? The RP scene has me channeling one character exclusively... apologies in advance if it's clunky for that reason...

Please note the following format:

:: Text :: = comm-link

[ Text ] = text message

Bumblebee's dialogue remains within * _Text*_ format, because he still doesn't have his voice back!

Aaaaaaannnnddddd remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I love reading what you all have to say, but let's keep it positive, we're all friends here! :3

\- AP

* * *

"Dunno why we bothered to hustle and clean this up. _Pinkie_ sure has been taking her sweet time to find the Doc…" Wheeljack grunted, dropping another empty cube in his growing stack.

"Yeah, 'Lita's been gone for a long time. Honestly, I think she ditched with Ratchet as well…" Smokescreen whined, still mopping up the green goop alongside Bumblebee.

Bulkhead chuckled, " _Elita_ , is probably heading back over right now," he corrected, setting down two more cubes next to the Wrecker's.

"It's Commander, or Ma'am, to you all," Ultra Magnus cut in flatly, pushing the completed stack against the wall next to the rest. Wheeljack rolled his optics.

" _Ma'am_ , then. I don't care what she calls herself, she ain't _my_ Commander," he huffed, bending and lifting another half-empty cube.

"Jackie…" Bulkhead shook his helm, already anticipating what Ultra Magnus' reply would be. Only now did Arcee pull her attention from cable inspection, turning to face the Wrecker group with growing irritation.

"You don't have to like it, but you do have to respect it," the femme piped up, servos on her hips as she watched the three mechs. "Elita is the Autobot's top warrior, and a revered Commander, not to mention a close friend of Optimus and-"

"Yeah, but you're biased," Smokescreen glanced up from the mess on the floor to find Arcee, "Besides, she's not the Autobot's top warrior…"

" _Agreed_ ," Wheeljack sneered, to which both Magnus, Arcee, and Bumblebee all rolled their optics.

"I mean, no offence 'Cee," Bulkhead interjected, as if speaking on his friend's behalf, "I've heard all the stories about Elita, and I'm sure she can handle herself in the field. But we all know the top warrior is Optimus, after all that's why he's Prime!"

At least that fact Wheeljack could manage to agree with, nodding his helm as Bulkhead chuckled, dropping their cubes down simultaneously.

"Statistically, that is inaccurate," Ultra Magnus started again, "Optimus, while our leader, does have impressive numbers, Elita has always garnered greater spec reports. Earning her the highest rank in the regime."

"Is that what Prime told you, or did you dig around those files yourself?" Wheeljack chided, throwing a wicked smirk up to the blue mech before continuing, "Good fighter or not, she's a Commander because she's petty to look at…" Now, his voice lowered as if confiding to Bulkhead despite addressing his thoughts publicly, "Besides, can't really blame the Prime, she's a fine piece of-"

 _*Really?*_

"Wheeljack!" Smokescreen cried, followed by Bulkhead's own disgusted vent.

"Enough!" both Ultra Magnus and Arcee cut in, each obviously disturbed with the sentiments.

Several awkward seconds passed as each got back to their duties, filling hangar with muffled sounds. Ultra Magnus continued to organize the cubes with a frown, refraining from furthering the previous conversation, despite every wire in his being pleading him to. Jackie muttered under his breath, though the words were inaudible as Bulkhead grunted and dropped more cubes in a pile.

On the other side, Arcee ticked off her list, rolling excess cables from the humming consoles and storing them on rungs. Smokescreen and Bumblebee were on their knees, desperately mopping up the spilled engine fluid with soupy rags – the sloshing made Smokescreen cringe, and he finally leaned back with a sigh.

"Bee, we're running out of rags…" Smokescreen said, holding up the soggy cloth for added visual. The Scout nodded his helm, coming to the same realization as he stared at the green liquid disaster still coating the floor.

 _*Keep scrubbing. We have to clean this before Raf and the others get here tonight_.*

"It's not even absorbing anymore! Just spreading it around into a bigger mess…"

Arcee pursed her lip plates, calling out to the struggling mechs as she continued looping cables around a ring.

"I think I saw some more in the supply vault…"

"All the way over there? You're sure there's none _in here_?" the mech whined again, looking over to Bumblebee, who in turn rolled his optics.

 _*Don't strain yourself. I'll go over_.*

"You're the best, Bee," Smokescreen chirped, now sitting on his aft as the Scout rose to his pedes with a few popping joints. The blue and yellow mech said nothing, fearing that if he commented on the Scout's aging frame he'd have to make the long trek himself.

 _*You owe me.*_

"I'll add it to the tally…"

Once upright, the Scout cracked his shoulders before carefully tip-toing around the green fluid, slipping for a brief moment before regaining his balance and starting out the hangar door.

When the mid-morning sunlight hit his frame the Scout gave an audible hum, relishing the warmth as it spread over his plates. A near perfect day. No Decepticon activity, no demanding missions, and Raf along with Miko, and Jack were going to spend the weekend on the base. Bumblebee could hardly contain his excitement; a movie night was just what Team Prime needed, what they _deserved_.

The walk itself wasn't too far and actually, he enjoyed being outside, in the sunlight instead of cooped up in the hangar. Were it not for safety protocol he'd wander off-base more often, personal trips were far and few between on the planet, though with the decrease in Decepticon activity he held hope that maybe more days like these were in the future.

Black digits typed in the code, and the heavy doors opened, allowing him entrance into the dimly lit space. Optics readjusted to the darker area, and he started towards the supply vault, though as he drew nearer he could hear voices…

 _Elita?_ She must have found Ratchet. Wings flicked. _Have they been hiding back here all along? Today was her idea after all… wasn't it? Or maybe it was Optimus's… wait, he wasn't here either!_

Quietly, he followed the muffled conversation, completely forgetting about the rags. What in the Pit were they doing over there?

* * *

The femme's vents gave a quiet sigh, still not entirely comfortable with the morals involved, but as a Commander, she understood his reasoning. There had been a number of questionable tactics at play during the war, in regards to gathering Intel, of that she knew all too well. The moral grey area had long since been where her and her direct team operated for many years…

"How long have you been constructing this?" she brought herself to ask.

"I started just ahead of your arrival, actually… a few weeks, give or take?" Ratchet answered quietly, wandering over to the sparking cable and welding it shut.

"And let me guess, Optimus has yet to discover this side project?" Elita questioned dryly, watching the Medic work on the cable, as servos again found their natural resting place on her hips.

"Of course not. You know what he would say to this…"

Elita nodded, she more than anyone would know, and would have her audial talked off about it, should it be brought to his attention. Now, she was an accomplice.

"Is it… functional?"

Ratchet vented for a moment before answering, "Yes. It should be… I have yet to run a full-test."

"I see," the Commander wandered back over to the pod, pede tapping against the floor in silence for a few seconds before she spoke again. "…While I cannot condone keeping this a secret from him… I think it would be in our best interest, to have any upper hand against the Decepticons at our disposal. Questionable, or not."

Finishing with the cable the CMO let it hang slack, satisfied with his handiwork and with the Commander's evaluation of the situation.

"Elita, I had every intention of bringing this to you, I could never find an appropriate time…" he started, letting his voice trail off as she waved a servo.

"I understand. My arrival has been nothing short of eventful, and in the wake of that, has made for few opportunities to have private conversation," she paused, not wanting to dwell on sentimental thoughts. "In any case," she continued, "As of now I believe it would be best to refrain from sharing this with anyone else, not until it is fully operational."

 _*Not until what is fully operational?*_

Ratchet yelped as he had before, knocking over the tray of instruments for the second consecutive time. In a split second Elita's own instincts took over, readying a blaster towards the onlooker in a defensive stance, shielding Ratchet safely behind.

 _*Woah, woah don't shoot! It's just me!*_

Bumblebee ducked out of the way, scampering out of view and against the wall, waving a servo in the entrance instead. He had no intention to find out just how good her aim was.

When cerulean optics found the yellow and black plating, she disengaged entirely, and the CMO grabbed at his chassis. He was getting too old for surprises.

"Bumble…?"

"Primus, Bee! What are you doing?!" Ratchet wheezed, desperately trying to steady his erratic spark pulse.

 _*I could ask you both the same thing_ …*

The Scout came back to view, creeping inside the partially opened doorway and into the blue-lit room. Optics widened upon seeing the death machine at the center, servos pointing frantically at it with growing worry.

 _*And what is that?!*_

"Calm down, calm down," the Commander started, eyeing the Medic with a dull expression. Was this some sort of impromptu meet up spot now? "Where are the others?" she continued, peering over the much smaller bot – half expecting to see the rest closely behind.

 _*It's just me. The others are cleaning the m_ -*

Bumblebee caught himself, Elita needn't know of the horrendous spill.

 _*Main…center… Chores day, remember?*_

Now, he threw a look to Ratchet, and the CMO rolled his optics. Yes, he remembered.

"Everyday is chores day for me, taking care of you lot," he sputtered, "Forgive me for taking some time for myself…"

 _*To build a torture device?*_

Both Elita and Ratchet glanced at each other, and she stepped to the side, the explanation was left to the Medic. It was his project after all… Ratchet huffed, pinching the bridge between his optics. _Traitor_.

"It's none of your concern," he gruffly answered, "Or anyone else's for that matter."

 _*So it is a torture device?*_

"No."

*… _Then why can't you tell me?*_

Now, Elita decided to jump in, "It's classified. This is above your ranking. You should not have even seen-"

** **WARNING: INTERNAL ERROR** **

** **WARNING: INTERNAL ERROR** **

** **WARNING: INTERNAL ERROR** **

Each immediately clamped servos over their audials as the loud emergency message blurted from the console. The cable Ratchet had welded just moments ago burst open again, sending large sparks flying into the air, and smoke seeping from the stasis pod.

* **WARNING: MALFUNCTION** **

* **WARNING: MALFUNCTION** **

* **WARNING: MALFUNCTION** **

"Ratchet, what does that mean?" Elita shouted over the blaring alarm. The Medic had already sprinted over to the consoles, static filling the screen as the cabling hissed above them.

 _*Turn it off!*_

"The consoles are frozen! The power relay must have short-circuited! The systems are all crashing!" Ratchet yelled back over, typing away into the keypad only to invoke more error warnings. Cerulean hues scanned the area,

"Is it plugged into the main grid?"

"… It is, yes. I'll cut the power supply."

"Hurry, if the pod explodes the blast will rupture the Energon cache in the neighbouring vaults," Elita coolly ordered, cautiously stepping back from the smoking contraption. A quick glance over her shoulder assured Bumblebee remained behind her frame, should there be a blast at least the Scout wouldn't bear the brunt of it.

Ratchet nodded, scrambling past the smoke and sparking cable maze as they dangled from the ceiling, before dashing out the door. A loud hum reverberated from the pod as rising Energon levels, and electric currents continued to push the failing systems over the edge.

The machine shrieked as bolts sprung from their holdings, shooting out like bullets. Elita stumbled backwards, arms rising to protect her fascia from the onslaught of bolts, as Bumblebee mirrored her actions.

 _*Aaagghh!*_

The Scout's pedes tangled in fallen cabling, trapping him in a sparking mess of downed wires. Bumblebee wriggled in the mess, trying to free himself as a spark caught fire on a downed Energon line, igniting in a hot blue blaze.

 _*Elita! Elita, I'm stuck! Help!*_

With the bolts ricocheting off the walls rather than her frame she managed to peek from behind her arms, finding the small mech drowning in the cables, and the roaring fire not too far away. In an instant she leapt forward, untangling the electric mess as quickly as possible, though with the fire growing closer, opted instead to rip them in half with brute strength.

Just as she freed his pede the metal whined and crunched around the pod, alarms blaring at such a high volume the words were no longer coherent, crackling overhead before fritzing out entirely. What the hell was taking Ratchet so long?!

"Can you walk?" Even without his answer Elita had begun to pull him upright and onto his pedes, it was like lifting a data pad to her, light – weightless even.

 _*Yeah… yeah I think so- ELITA WATCH OUT!*_

Before she could look behind everything went to white. Infinite, silent white.

* * *

Ready for shenanigans? I sure am. Stay tuned for the next chapter for hilarity... and maybe some awkwardness.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Impossible

Shorter chapter this time around... I say as I look at the 1300 word count. The definition of 'short' has lost its meaning to me apparently.

ANYWAYS, hope you enjoy it as things are finally starting to take flight! And don't forget to follow, fave, and review! I love reading your comments and feedback, but please remember to keep it positive, we're all friends here! :3

\- AP

* * *

"Are you going to stick around for movie night, Jackie?" Bulkhead asked lightly, taking a step back to admire the completed stack of cubes. The other Wrecker grunted, finishing his own stack before cracking his servos.

"Ahhh, I dunno…" he sighed, still not convinced that it would be worth his time.

"Ah, come on, it'll be fun!"

"That's what you said last time," Wheeljack groaned, shaking his helm again. "If it's another singing one, I'm out."

Bulkhead gave a hearty laugh, rumbling from the lower registers of his vocoder and vibrating through the hangar. Smokescreen and Arcee couldn't help but giggle and snicker respectively, as well. Bulkhead's laugh had always been contagious, and on perfect calmed days like these, the impact on inevitability brightened dispositions only increased.

"No singing ones, got it," Bulkhead chuckled, "Besides, I think it's Miko's choice tonight anyways…" There was a new monster-bashing movie out if memory served him correctly, always a Friday night classic. Smokescreen peered up from his spot on the floor, flicking dried green globs off his frame.

"For the record, some of us _happen_ to like those ones…" he called over, half-heartedly defending one of his preferred genres. The others laughed again, and even he joined in as well, savouring the light-hearted mood.

Really, could he be blamed? The tunes were catchy, and got stuck in his helm more often than he would ever admit to. With a life so closely resembling the fictitious action movies, the feel-good escapes came as a nice change of pace every now and then.

Peering over to the tall blue mech nose-deep in his data pad, Smokescreen made an effort to include him in the conversation, despite already knowing what answer would await his inquiry.

"Hey, Magnus? Are you going to finally watch with us?"

The Commander didn't bother pulling his gaze from the data pad, checking off another box on the to-do list. "No."

"You might actually like it, though! Even Arcee sticks around, right 'Cee?" Now, all optics darted over to the femme, just finishing off her last cable rung.

"Well I don't really have a choice, do I? _Someone_ has to watch after you all."

"There, exactly!" Smokescreen stopped, optic ridges furrowing as her words finally clicked "Wait, what do you mean 'watch over us'? You love movie night, don't deny it!"

" _Yeaaaahhh_ ," Bulkhead chimed in, wearing the widest grin possible, "Especially the 'singing ones', I've heard you humming them on patrol."

Arcee's optic widened. "They're repetitive! It's not my fault they get stuck in my helm!"

"I KNEW IT!" Smokescreen exclaimed, jumping up from his spot on the floor, "I knew I wasn't the only one!"

"Alright, alright. Calm down, Destiny's Child…" Arcee replied flatly, reaching for her own data pad and ticking off her assigned box. Smokescreen and Bulkhead shared a conspiratorial look, quietly snickering to themselves; they were never going to let this one go.

Despite the now raucous laughter erupting from the gaggle of mechs, Ultra Magnus remained unmoved, peering up from the data screen with a subtle frown. "May I remind you all that unless this list is completed, I am certain the Commander will not permit for such frivolous activities this evening."

"Always gotta be a stick in the mud, don't cha?" Wheeljack huffed under his breath. Even if he wasn't completely on board with the human and bot movie night, an evening of freedom was something they all were looking forward to. "Come on, Magnus. The Boss won't mind if a few cubes aren't counted."

Now, the taller mech raised an optical ridge, frowned lips curving into a thin pressed line. "I was not referring to Opti-" Magnus reply was cut short as the overhead lights, and encircling monitors flickered off. Were it not for the mid-morning sun streaming through the opening they would've been trapped in darkness.

Each of the bots stilled immediately, waiting, listening, none wishing to voice their suspicions: Decepticons? No, that's impossible. The scanners would've picked up the inbound Energon signal… maybe it was just a power outage?

"Uhhhmmm… what just happened?" Smokescreen broke the silence, yet no answers came from the rest.

Bio-lights from their frames flooded through half-shadows, and the engine fluid coating the ground glowed bright green underfoot. Before anyone could answer the backup generator kicked in, and a low hum filled the air as monitors, consoles, and hanging lights whirred back to life.

"Well… that was weird…" Bulkhead said, his tone wavering with slight edge, spooked if only a little.

Wheeljack nodded his helm in quiet agreement, glancing up to the dim monitor as lines of code ran across the screen. "No change in activity, not a single 'Con signal in sight…"

"Maybe it was Ratchet?" Arcee questioned, turning back to the blue Commander alongside the other two mechs. Ultra Magnus gathered his thoughts, bringing his helm to give a short nod. Her reasoning was sound, and it would explain where the CMO had disappeared too.

"I came to a similar conclusion," he vented, carefully navigating the green lake between him and the console to better read the Energon signals. "Perhaps Ratchet is currently modifying the power grid…"

"Or it was the humans. Wouldn't be surprised if they fragged something up," Wheeljack said bluntly, only to have Bulkhead elbow him in the side.

"My guess is the humans. Ratchet ditched, and so did Elita… and Bee!" Smokescreen pouted. No fair, he would've gone to find the rag himself if it meant he could play hooky, too. Arcee rolled her optics with an indignant huff; in all her years of serving with the Commander, Elita had never once abandoned her duties.

"Elita is probably helping Ratchet, and Bee's still hunting down those rags," she replied, "Where else would they be?"

* * *

"That's it, that's it, nice and slow… just keep following the light…" the old Medic's voice gently cooed.

 _What happened… ?_

Optics blinked through the haze, following the white glow dancing from side to side as it slowly came to focus. Elita groaned, lifting her servos to rub at the side of her helm.

 _*May I suggest revising that particular statement, Ratchet?*_

Now, optics widened. That wasn't her voice… shooting forward she forced herself upright with ease, feeling strangely lighter than usual, to stare at the black digits on her servos as they wiggled back at her. Horrified, her gaze fell to her torso, then the yellow plated legs, and finally her black pedes.

 _*Ratchet? What…. I…. ?!*_

Her helm whipped around to find a reflective surface – any reflective surface – catching the Scout's reflection staring back at her. The closest resemblance to a shriek burst from her vocoder, resulting in a high-pitch beep before crackling out.

Ratchet leapt back at the outburst, startled by the sudden reaction. Servos held out in front of him, trying to restrain the Scout and deter further injury.

"Bumblebee, calm down! CALM DOWN!" he bellowed, digits curling over yellow shoulder pauldrons. Yet still, the smaller frame wriggled and fought against his hold, threatening to break free.

 _*What happened? Why am I in Bumblebee's frame?!*_

Primus, she could hear her spark pulsating in her audials, reaching a dangerously erratic pace. Optics scanned the vault room, hoping this to only be a dream but within seconds she found exactly what she had dreaded: her frame, her true frame.

The much larger fuchsia form lay motionless on the ground, save for the soft twitching of alabaster digits as the femme slowly came to consciousness. Elita slowed in her thrashing, watching in utter disbelief as cerulean optics – _her cerulean optics_ – blinked slowly, listening to the cool alto vocoder humming a pained groan.

"Uggghhhh, what the frag…?" Bumblebee drawled, fighting through his own daze before slowly realizing something was not right. Turning his helm, his gaze fell to slender digits, wriggling them in the air to assure they were in fact his, before bolting upright. It took extra effort than normal, feeling as though his body weighed five-times more than usual, but once sitting, he understood why.

"Elita?!" His helm whipped towards the CMO and Scout, just a few feet away, feeling as though he would purge when he saw himself – his yellow and black frame – staring back. "I'm… I'm-" Audials flicked at the sound of the voice, as white servos flew to his throat, "I'm _ELITA_?!"

* * *

Well that sure throws a wrench into a perfect day! But, Bumblebee can't really complain, if I woke up in Elita's body I would be super excited... or maybe that's just me? Follow, fave, review, and stay tuned...


	4. Chapter 4 - Collusion

The shortest chapter is succeeded by the longest chapter (thus far), because uniformity is not my style... Not going to lie, it is difficult to write characters that have switched bodies description wise, but bear with me, I think you all understand? For clarification: I'll still refer to Elita as Elita, and Bumblebee as Bumblebee, despite them being in the other's body.

SO YEAH, HAVE FUN WITH THAT.

Remember to follow, fave, and review! I love reading what you have to say and your feedback, but remember to keep it positive, we're all friends here! :3

\- AP

* * *

Ratchet shook his helm, his own realization finally dawning upon him, "No…. no, no, that's not…" Immediately, he rose to his pedes, scampering towards the half-incinerated stasis pod and cracking consoles. "That's impossible!"

Bumblebee was on the brink of a mental breakdown, servos gliding over the large curvy frame in a panic. Digits trailed over helm finnials, then smooth fascia, over fuchsia abdominal plating, and long legs, then gripping at protruding chest-plates.

 _*Get your servos at your sides, Scout.*_

The irate beeps burst from the smaller frame, startled both the mechs. While Elita was in another frame her infamous temper remained. Bumblebee flung the servos from the chest-plates, too scared to continue the exploration. A few moments passed, as each let reality set in, though, the silence only lasted so long before Elita leapt back into action. No matter what she looked like she was still a Commander, after all.

 _*Ratchet_ ,* she beeped, still not used to the bevy of tones and noises that now replaced her voice. * _What happened after you cut the power?*_

Bumblebee remained on the ground, watching idly as the yellow plated Commander stood, and started over to the CMO, tapping her pede – _his pede_ – against the ground expectantly. This was a dream. Some terrible, awful, nightmarish dream…

"I have no idea…I cut the power, and when I came back you were both lying on the ground… I thought you were-" he paused, pushing that thought aside as optics now met the enraged gaze of the Scout. Amazing, while it remained Bumblebee's body he could clearly see Elita's personality blazing through.

 _*It is obvious the chamber malfunctioned. We need to determine HOW and then reverse the reaction, as quickly as possible_ …*

Ratchet nodded, turning back to the cracked consoles in an effort to find answers. Scarred digits typed frantically into the keypad, optics darting across graphs, glyphs, coding, and recorded energy levels with a grimace. Bumble – no, _Elita_ – he corrected, was right. A malfunction occurred, but there was no sound reason as to why this outcome had been reached.

 _ **PING!**_

Optical ridges furrowed as Bumblebee glanced about, hearing the distinctive notification of a data pad message, though couldn't see one anywhere near him.

 _ **PING!**_

There it was again! With a grunt he twisted the cumbersome frame around, peering over fuchsia shoulder pauldrons and behind. Still nothing. Then, a thought. The data pad must have been Elita's… and currently stored in her subspace. How did he get to it?

"E-Eli… Elita…?" Bumblebee stuttered quietly, optics darting between the CMO and yellow plating. There were no words that could describe this feeling, this out of body experience seemed surreal; unravelling before his eyes and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop it.

 _*What about_ _ **that**_ _data relay?*_ Elita offered, rising on the tips of her pedes in an attempt point to the screen, only to realize she was much, much too short. Curse this frame; she already hated it. Ratchet's brow furrowed, where the Pit was she pointing to?

" _Which_ data relay? There are several," he replied sharply.

 _*Mind your tone_.*

"… _Eliiiiiitaaaa_?" Bumblebee whispered, hearing another ping from the hidden data pad. She wasn't listening, maybe he could figure out the transformation sequence himself. With another vent, he concentrated, willing the plates to shift and rattle for but a moment before they again magnetized into place. "Slaggit."

Ratchet bit his glossa. Old friend or not Elita was still his suprerior. The CMO nodded his helm with a softened tone, "Apologies, Commander. Could you please clarify which data relay? I cannot seem to locate it."

 _*Middle column, third from the left. Auxiliary power coupling between the stasis pod's inner chamber and neruo-transmitter.*_

"Ah, now I see it," a few more clacks into the keypad, "Mmm, no that one was not functional before the shut-down."

"Commander…. Elita, Ma'am?"

The Commander turned Scout pivoted, large blue optics looking over the fuchsia plating with a dismal expression; how dignified, still splayed out on the ground, half-hunched over like an overgrown sparkling.

 _*Yes, Bumblebee?*_ she finally acknowledged with an irritated huff, pede tapping against the ground with dull thuds.

"How do I… _How do you?_ " he would really rather not explain something so second nature, and he felt like an imbecile for even asking. Elita squinted, helm ducking forward just a tad, perhaps the Scout's audials were not as high-functioning as her own…

 _*Could you repeat that? How do I, what?*_

"How do you…"

"Oh, just spit it out, Elita – _I mean_ , **_Bee_** ," Ratchet cut in, still typing away on the keypad.

 _ **PING!**_

"How do you get to your subspace? … Your data pad keeps jostling me!" he blurted out, shifting on his aft uncomfortably.

Ratchet shook his helm with an amused vent, he wasn't going to interject; there were more important matters at hand, like reversing the body swap, for starters. Elita could feel her optic twitching. Really? Of everything he could think of _that_ was the pressing issue on his mind?

Servos now rested on her hips, transferring her weight from one pede to another. * _The same way you do. Shift the plating along the center seam, not that complicated.*_ She replied shortly, turning back to Ratchet. * _Anything yet?*_

"Not yet… can you look inside the pod and check the internal board?"

Elita nodded, walking over to the pod and clambered over the edge to get a look, winglets flickering with every movement. Curse this small frame, everything seemed to be ten times larger than normal.

 _*Shall I read you the levels then?*_

"Yes, please. I'll be able to isolate the variables easier if you do."

Bumblebee shifted the plates again; no luck, and another ping filled his audials. Why was this so difficult? _Shift the plating along the center seam_. Bumblebee made a face at the words, repeating them to himself under his breath. It was impossible; all they did were rattle and clank, not to mention he was still sore. Everything ached, he felt heavy, and his joints creaked with each ventilation that passed through his frame it seemed… is this what happened when you got old? Eugh. He was not looking forward to it.

 _ **PING!**_

One more try… ridges furrowed as he shifted the plates along the center seam, watching in half amazement when they slid into place and allowed him access to the subspace. Slender digits fumbled around to retrieve the data pad, clanking it on the inner fold twice before pulling it free. The new, much larger size proved to be a change he would struggle with for a while.

Clicking the button the screen illuminated with several missed messages from… Optimus? Oh, slag, what if it was important? What if he needed help? Bumblebee glanced back up to the other two, both neck-deep in their work trying to fix the pod, and find a way to undo the effects. Denta bit his lower lip component, noticing the plumper feeling, actually, it felt rather good… soft, smooth… _FOCUS_ , Bumblebee.

Digits pressed another button and miraculously the message screen appeared, the data pad was unlocked. _Not exactly following standard privacy protocol, Commander_ … he inwardly scolded, sifting through the main message hub to find Optimus' texts.

OPTIMUS – [ Update: Venturing further west, stronger Energon signal has been detected. ]

OPTIMUS – [ Update: Unearthed Energon cache found. Under ten crystals. No further aid required. ]

OPTIMUS – [ You are due in for a report as well, Commander. How are tasks progressing on base? ]

Bumblebee took a sharp intake, was he expecting a status report right this instant? What would he even say? Should they say anything about what happened?

 _ **PING!**_

OPTIMUS – [ Report overdue. Status update requested. ]

Optics glanced back over to Elita and Ratchet. Did Optimus know about the torture device? Clearing his vocoder he sheepishly called back over to them. "…Uhm Elita, Ma'am?" She didn't bother to look up, reading off the internal board numbers to Ratchet, who recorded them into the console.

 _Maybe I can just answer… best to keep it vague_. Optimus needn't know about the massive engine fluid spill either, after all. _SLAG! Smokescreen was still waiting for rags_ … it would only be a matter of time as to when he wandered back over here too…

ELITA – [ Things are progressing… ] Bumblebee glanced up at the ceiling, what did Magnus reports normally say? _AH!_

ELITA – [ On schedule. Nothing new to report. ]

At the bottom of the screen a new notification appeared, the message had been read, and Bumblebee froze as the ellipses on the bottom of the screen begun to dance. Optimus was responding. Did he know it wasn't Elita?

OPTIMUS – [ Understood. ]

Thank Primus… wait, he was still typing? Oh slag, was he going to request a bridge?

OPTIMUS – [ … Have you come to a decision yet? ]

Ridges furrowed, decided on what?

 _*What in the PIT do you think you're doing?*_

Bumblebee fumbled with the data pad at the startling beeping, watching as it flew from his grip and shimmered in the blue light before clanking onto the ground, as both panic and fear struck his very core. Never did he think the sound of his own beeping would elicit such a terror, but then again, never did he think the being behind those beeps would ever be Elita-1.

 _*Are you reading my private messages?*_

"No! I mean, yes, kind of. Ma'am, I'm so sorry. It's Optimus! He-"

 _*He what?*_

"What did you tell him?!" Ratchet yelled, prying himself from the console to glare over to the Scout, whose fascia had begun to heat and servos tremble. Already, Elita had jumped down from the stasis pod and descended upon the Scout, servo outstretched and awaiting the data pad.

"I didn't tell him anything. Just that things were progressing as normal?" Bumblebee complied, scrambling to pick the data pad off the ground then hand it to the rightful owner, who looked as though she were about to burst into flames.

 _*Why would you- never mind,_ * she didn't bother to finish the sentiment, as she resized the data pad to fit her smaller size, before reading over the message thread. The more… personal messages were out of sight, but the Scout could've very well had scrolled upwards. It was best not to pursue the subject; it would only make things more complicated.

"He kept asking for a status report, I didn't want him to get suspicious!" Bumblebee answered quickly, hoping his answer would prove acceptable. Elita had turned away, locking the screen and after a few tries managed to store it in the new subspace.

 _Not so easy, is it Commander?_ Bumblebee chided inwardly.

"And that's all you told him, correct?" Ratchet pressed, optics locked onto bright cerulean hues.

Bumblebee nodded, "Yeah, yeah that was it. Does he… does he know about-"

 _*No. And we are going to keep it that way_.*

Both Ratchet and Bumblebee stared dumbfounded at the Commander, who pivoted on the heel of her pede and again returned her servos to black hip joints. Ratchet made a move to protest, but the glowering look from Elita only silenced him further.

 _*If we bring any of this to his attention the repercussions could prove detrimental to not only us, but to the contents of this vault as well. The Cortical Chamber… it could be the difference between saving Cybertron and Earth, or destroying them forever.*_

Elita paused for a moment, straightening herself to stand at full stature, which still only came to Ratchet's chest, and her own abdominal plating.

 _*Is that understood?*_

Bumblebee nodded his helm vacantly, still not quite sure what the machine was and what it did. "So… just to be clear, it's _not_ a torture device?"

* * *

The last Prime continued the delicate process of digging the Energon crystals out of the terrain, and storing them in a transport. Every now and then when the crystal squeaked against a rock his audials would flick, thinking instead it were a ping from his data pad. He had caught himself a few times checking his messages, finding none of them from Elita, and Optimus forced his focus to return to the task at hand despite the disappointment. Yet even then, his thoughts remained elsewhere…

He remembered the day like it were yesterday, when her signal blipped on the console for the first time in thousands of years, and when at long last their optics met, it was as if no time had passed at all. His only wish were that the weeks following her arrival had been less hectic, so that they could spend more time together, just to talk and enjoy the other's company. But of course, such a wish was far beyond what the universe would ever allow; they were cursed it seemed, bound by duty and restricted to whispers in the dead of night.

Something about it excited him, though, and if conversation in the shadows, stolen glances during meetings, and fleeting touches on a battlefield were all they got, he would consider himself the luckiest mech in the universe; for even then it meant that they were together, that she were in his life.

 _Elita_. Just the sound of her name on his glossa made his spark swell and a smile spread over his fascia. There had been a time when the name had tasted bitter, a poison he swallowed every moment of every day, while he lay awake in the middle of the evening, and even as he lay dying beneath the crumbling Autobot base. All these years he carried that emptiness within his spark, existing only in a life half-lived, torn between here and wherever she was; somewhere beyond the stars, beyond Cybertron even he had thought.

And he could remember so clearly, as he reached towards his mentor's servo and relinquished the Matrix, he had felt a weightlessness, a calling to him from that great beyond, the gentle voice of his greatest strength and weakness; never had he felt so happy at the prospect of being with her again, only to have such a long-awaited ending be torn away.

But, the universe works in mysterious ways… soon after fate itself brought them back together, and her name again became the sweetest flavour in the entire world; and it was his and his alone to savour. And yet even now they only existed together in the darkness, in the dead of night, hidden in corners, speaking in hushed tones, and lying quietly on a berth, but he wouldn't have it any other way. The universe had been kind in granting him a second chance to see her, to hear her voice, to feel her warmth, and love her unconditionally as he had before; thus, he did not complain, nor would he ever.

 _ **CLINK**_

Audials flicked, optics tearing from the blue Energon crystals to his data pad propped against the wall, still a black screen, and he vented again in quiet disappointment. She was busy of course, managing the team back on base so he understood their contact would be limited… but still, his eagerness got the better of him, it was difficult to concentrate on anything other than tonight. An evening alone for them to enjoy shamelessly, there were countless possibilities of all they could explore, of all they could do…

Now that was a dangerous thought to have, indeed.

 _ **CLINK**_

Instinctively his optics darted to the black screen, and he grumbled. Maybe he could speed things along…? Reaching over for the data pad he typed status reports into the private message and waited. Several moments passed and still no answer. Hm. Another message, she was due for a status report of her own after all… Still, no answer came. Ridges furrowed, and he couldn't help but start to feel concern bubbling in the pit of his spark. Was something wrong? One last message before he would send a comm, but thankfully, she answered.

ELITA – [ Things are progressing… ]

Progressing, how? Normally she was so succinct in her words and now-

ELITA – [ On schedule. Nothing new to report. ]

Ah, that's better. She had sent the message before completing her statement. A simple error. Optimus quickly responded, now that he had her attention he would try again.

OPTIMUS – [ ... Have you come to a decision yet? ]

He himself had thought of two separate locations they could visit, both quiet and secluded, with a spectacular view of the organic expanse Earth boasted. A few seconds passed again and he locked the screen, setting the data pad down to retrieve the last crystal and set it in the pile amongst the others. Best to call for a bridge and return to base, if she didn't answer his message he would soon be able to talk with her in person.

:: Optimus Prime to base, requesting a ground bridge at my current location. ::

* * *

Dun dun DUNNNNNN. Elita, sweetheart, it's never a good idea to keep secrets... it only makes things WORSE. Or do they? Maybe Optimus won't notice...? Place your bets now, and stay tuned...


	5. Chapter 5 - The Plan

Daaaaayyyuuuummmmm Daniel, back at it again with the late chapter updates!

Please note that whenever I make mention to Elita or Bumblebee, remember they are in each other's bodies! It's a bit tricky trying to keep everything straight, but if I mention them by name ( or use their correct pronouns ) while they are speaking, interacting, etc. know that it's me referring to them while they're swapped. Otherwise it'll just be more confusing.

Obviously when OTHER characters make reference to either Elita or Bumblebee, they are referring to the proper frames/bodies. They have no idea they've been swapped. Anyways, so excited to get to the meat and potatoes of this crack pile. So many shenanigans coming up... especially with Optimus :)

Also remember to follow, fave, and comment below! I love reading what you all have to say, but let's keep it positive, we're all friends here! :3

\- AP

* * *

"I mean, I'm just saying, the cartoons are better than the live action ones," Smokescreen finished, finally taking a vent after his longwinded speech.

Ultra Magnus tuned the blue and yellow mech out the instant he brought up the topic, continuing to complete his list of tasks from Elita. Wheeljack listened, but never responded along with Arcee, both catching the other's dulled expression every now and then. Bulkhead remained the only one half-listening; giving small hums and helm nods to assure Smokescreen at least _someone_ was listening to his cinematographic evaluation.

 _ **DING!**_

:: _Optimus Prime to base, requesting a ground bridge at my current location_. ::

Oh thank Primus, Ultra Magnus inwardly sighed in relief, clicking the transmitter on the console.

:: Understood, Sir. Bridge in-bound. ::

A large digit tapped the transmitter again, cutting the comms before locking onto the coordinates, and pulled the lever. In an instant the swirling hues of the ground bridge burst forth in the encompassing frame, the low hum rumbling and reverberating off the hangar's walls.

"Slaggit! Bee isn't back with those rags yet, and Optimus is going to lecture ME about the mess! _Me!_ It wasn't even my fault!" the Elite Guard yelped, pacing frantically at the lip of the green pool.

"If you're so worried why don't you go to the supply vault yourself? Your legs are functional are they not?" Arcee said flatly, peering over a blue winglet at the younger mech.

"Yeah, and while you're over there tell Doc Bot and Pinkie to get their afts back he-"

" _Her name is Elita-1_ ," the rumbling baritone cut in, as the last of the Primes stepped through the edge of the bridge and into the hangar, "Or Commander. Those will be your only options, and final reminder," he added, peering down to the Wrecker with certain sternness only Ultra Magnus could rival.

Wheeljack glanced over to Bulkhead, who kept his optics locked on a data pad; his friend was on his own with this one. Very few times had he ever seen Optimus become angry, and he had no intention of reliving that particular experience.

"Yes, Sir…" the Wrecker conceded with a deflating ventilation, getting back to cleaning out Energon carts.

With the Energon transport in tow the Prime turned to face the stacked cubes, pausing at the green liquid lake squishing underfoot. Optical ridges furrowed and vents rumbled. It was obvious by the streak marks on the floor that they had tried cleaning the mess, but the task was anything but completed.

Smokescreen took immediate notice the leader's reaction, backing away towards the open door to make an escape.

"I'm on it, Optimus. Bumblebee knocked over some cubes and-"

"You're the one who backed into them," Arcee chimed in, still focused on her data pad. Smokescreen's face drooped, sheepishly glancing back up to Optimus who appeared strangely at peace with the situation… or indifferent. He looked as if his mind were somewhere else, somewhere blissful, even.

The once hint of a smile had vanished, and the Prime vented quietly as he gave a calmed response, "As a team we must all take responsibility for mistakes when they occur, and in doing so work together to rectify them. That being said, we cannot allow the human children to stay tonight if the spill remains, it could prove potentially hazardous to their health."

He himself would even lend a servo if it meant that they each could enjoy their free evening… Optimus really was looking forward to his excursion with Elita.

"Got it. I'll go find some more rags…. And Bumblebee… to help clean this…"

"If you can, see if you can locate Commander Elita as well, Smokescreen. I have my reports ready for her approval," Ultra Magnus said, only just now looking up from his data pad, catching the Prime look in his direction at Elita's name. _Some things never change_ …

* * *

"But I can't just **_BE YOU_** , I don't know how to comman-"

 _*You have no other choices available. Optimus along with the others will know **SOMETHING** is wrong if you hide back here. You are an SIC now, a Commander, whether you like it or not.*_

"Bee – I mean, _Elita_ , is right," Ratchet corrected himself, that was a slip up he would have to rid himself with, lest blow the entire operation. "And if Optimus or any of them were to find out all our afts will be on the line." The elder mech took a brief pause, joining the other two bots near the entrance of the vault. "I'm sure I'll be able to fix it, but I just need TIME to do so. Go back to the main centre, and do your best to not raise suspicion… I'll assure you if there's any updates."

 _*What should we tell the others if they inquire of your whereabouts?*_ Elita beeped, servos on her hips and helm cocked to the side, a mannerism so completely Elita Ratchet could practically see her personality glowing from the black and yellow frame.

"Say I'm working on the power grid, hence the brief outage – and the reason why there are any more… if there are more, that is," Another pause, tone shifting from cool to slightly stern as a worn digit wagged at her, "You better stop with that, too. Remember, you're acting as each other would, mannerisms and vocal patterns included."

 _*What vocal patterns? All I can do is beep…*_ she inwardly groaned with a quiet, deflating tone. But the Scout's newly attuned audials flicked – something he was unused to and strangely offset by – leaning down in the cumbersome, fuchsia frame to his own body with a small scowl.

"What was that, _Scout?_ "

Elita rolled her stupidly large optics, helm dipping back with a small indignant sigh. It would appear their performances had now started; best begin the act now and get a feel for it before–

" _Bee? Elita? Ratchet? Are you guys in here?!"_ the sudden youthful voice blurted from the hangar's entrance, echoing down the hall to the vault. All three mecha froze, hoping he wouldn't wander back down here – a conclusion Elita had already sought to nip in the bud as she willed the Scout's frame forward to the exit, waving Bumblebee to follow.

 _Showtime_ , as they say.

With the Scout turned Commander in tow they both ambled out the vault as quietly as possible, not wanting Smokescreen or anyone else that had joined him to draw closer to the half-destroyed Cortical Psychic Chamber. Elita huffed, struggling to keep pace with the longer strides of the fuchsia form; she knew the height difference remained a large one, but Primus she felt so small, having to jog to stay alongside Bumblebee was something she were unused to, and he wasn't even walking THAT fast.

A note to be made for future reference…

"We're right here, Smokie!" Bumblebee called out, waving an alabaster servo to the Elite Guard who jolted in the dimly lit space, clanking against a shelving unit. Elita rolled her optics, watching as her normally cool and composed frame now resembled that of a youngling, energetic and overly emotive; something she was DEFINITELY not – and if the confused look on Smokescreen's fascia were any indication, he too had not been expecting.

"Yeah… uh, hey, Ma'am…" he awkwardly waved back, watching as they both stopped in front of him. Something seemed off but he couldn't quite put his digit on it. And why were they in the back of the vault? Ridges narrowed and he shifted to the side, trying to peer around them as though to determine the origin of their location. Elita side-stepped in front of his gaze, clearing the horrendously mangled vocoder with an influxed tone.

 _*Ratchet had enlisted our help with the power grid. He will be modifying it for the duration of the day.*_

Bumblebee quirked an optical ridge, throwing a perplexed glance down to his black and yellow frame; that was definitely _**not**_ how he sounded. Elita could feel the gaze lingering on her, and large optics drifted upward to meet cerulean already staring back. _Right_. She would need to alter her words to sound more like the Scout… less proper.

 _*So, uh… whatcha doing back here…?*_ she offered, moving her servos to rest on her hips, then suddenly unsure if that was how the Scout stood, so opted to instead cross her arms in front of the bulging chassis. Still didn't feel right. Slaggit. Bumblebee could feel himself cringe internally, watching the Commander's improvisation unfold like a horrible train wreck, yet he couldn't force himself to look away.

Smokescreen simply blinked, watching the mech move so strangely and uncomfortably, he was obviously hiding something… but he wouldn't ask with Elita standing right there. He had heard stories of her infamous temper and had no ambition of ever being on the receiving end of such an outburst – if one were ever to occur. He'd save his questions for later, when he and Bumblebee were in private.

"Came here to get some more rags…" the Elite Guard started, still unsure if the looming Commander were aware of the mess in the main centre.

"Oh, slag. Right! I forgot about-" the femme squawked, causing both the smaller mechs to whip their helms back up in her direction. Bumblebee could feel the smooth fascia heating at their reaction, clearing the alto vocoder with a small vent, "The mess in the main centre…" That answer wouldn't suffice, and Elita shot a deathly glare up to the Scout. Bumblebee racked his processors for an adequate answer. "I… _Bumblebee_ , had said he was getting more rags for the spill… before Ratchet asked for our help."

The reasoning seemed sound and Smokescreen shrugged. Elita was acting strange but then again he hardly knew her. Maybe this was how she normally was, rather than the slightly colder and stern demeanour she normally projected. Primus knew Magnus were stern enough to last them all an eternity.

"You know about that?" Smokescreen whined, shoulder pauldrons drooping if ever slightly, and Bumblebee saw his chance. He was a Commander now, after all.

"Yes, I do," he hummed, flashing a smirk – Primus he could move his mouth, it still felt so strange after all these years – "I heard you knocked over some cubes?"

Smokescreen stiffened, shooting a glare over to the Scout who glanced back up to the fuchsia femme. Elita had heard the cubes fall but had no idea what the cause was… but if she were to be honest, it wasn't surprising Smokescreen were at fault.

"I can't believe you told her," the Guard whispered harshly, glowering into large optics.

"He did, and now I know whose fault it was," Bumblebee chided with a slag eating grin, he was enjoying the newfound power a bit too much. Elita rolled her optics with a pointed gaze. Children the both of them.

 _*It doesn't matter. You – I mean –_ _ **we**_ _need to finish cleaning the mess_ …*

Smokescreen shrugged again, going back to survey the shelves. "I guess. Did you find them yet?"

 _*No, but according to the inventory list they should be a few racks away.*_

 _ **PING!**_

Elita froze, feeling the data pad vibrate with a new notification, and if she were to wager a guess it would be Optimus. A black servo immediately rummaged about the small subspace to retrieve the data pad, and sure enough, it was the Prime. Smokescreen turned back to the Scout, noticing the gold-framed data pad now in his teammate's servo.

"Hey, when did you get that cool case? I don't remember you having one!" he exclaimed, reaching over as if to snatch it from the Scout. Elita turned away with a scowl, large optics narrowed in a defensive glare.

 _*I found it back here. Last one. Don't touch it,*_ she lied, bright blue hues scanned over the message, feeling a small worried pulse flash through her spark chamber.

OPTIMUS – [ Have you located Ratchet? ]

ELITA – [ Yes, we are in the supply hangar. ]

Digits hovered over the screen as they awaited a response, watching ellipses on the bottom of the screen already dancing as the Prime began typing his answer. Primus, they had barely fooled Smokescreen, and Bumblebee's performance hadn't instilled any confidence he would be able to trick Optimus into thinking he was really her.

"Bee! Let's go! Stop playing around on your data pad we need to clean that mess-"

 _*Give me a moment, Smokescreen_ –* she beeped in obvious irritation, pede tapping at the ground as another PING filled her audials, and quickly typed another reply.

OPTIMUS – [ Are you nearly finished? ]

ELITA – [ I believe so. ]

OPTIMUS – [ Good. Ultra Magnus has a report in need of your keen optic. ]

Elita vented quietly, glancing over her shoulder at the looming bots encircling her. Bumblebee wouldn't know how to read the report… Smokescreen shot her a look and then peered back up to the fuchsia femme who seemed to be grinning far too smugly for his liking.

ELITA – [ Have him send the report to my data pad. I will review it now. ]

OPTIMUS – [ As you wish. ]

Digits locked the screen and stored the data pad back in the small subspace, taking notice to the two bots still standing there. It took every ounce of strength not to bark an order to them, remembering she no longer were considered a Commander in this form.

* _Wash rags. Second shelving unit, fifth row. Can you get them? I have to ask Elita something… there was a note on the report I'm confused by_ …* she beeped again. Smokescreen sneered then turned to fetch the rags from the appropriate location, muttering a quiet 'whatever' under his breath. * _Come here._ *

The tones lowered despite being out of audial range of the Guard, and as commanded the Scout leaned closer, still marvelling the flexibility of her frame – he could probably touch his pedes if he wanted too, a feat he wouldn't have been able to accomplish in his true frame. Focus, Bumblebee!

"What? What is it?" he replied, quieting his own voice. Elita vented again, digging about in her subspace to hand the Scout his own data pad, assuring to keep her own should Optimus text back, or Magnus send the report.

 _*We do not have a lot of time. Whatever Optimus says to you, you MUST go along with. Do not ask any questions, or say otherwise, you have to play along or he will KNOW there is something wrong. Do I make myself clear?*_

Bumblebee nodded, not quite sure exactly what she was talking about but assumed it would be 'Commander' related. Give a few orders, maybe nod his helm a few times when making decisions. Piece of cake. Elita shifted uncomfortably, wanting to give the Scout more warning yet not wanting to reveal the intimate details of her private life. She hardly knew the mech, but still…

 _ **PING!**_

Optics rolled, that must have been Magnus's report, and as she peered around the fuchsia armour to find the Elite Guard she noted he was already heading back. Dammit. Their time was fleeting.

 _*I will handle all the logistics. Just try to impersonate me as best you can. Silence will be the key. Do not say or do anything you would normally do.*_

"So uh… we done here or what?" Smokescreen called over, already making his way to the exit with a stack of fresh rags in each servo. Bumblebee nodded the fuchsia helm, grinning again back down to his superior.

"You both best get cleaning."

* * *

Dab away the awkwardness... who's ready for some shenanigans? Who will see through the act first? What will the kids think? Stay tuned for the next chapter!


End file.
